Tea and Aides
by Kamikashi
Summary: Since becoming Director of Homeworld Security, Paul Davis is always in reach of Jack, or the one bringing on his orders… ever wondered why? Well, here's a likely reason! For Davis fans.
1. Prologue: General O'Neill

A. N.: I could not get this little problem out of my head, and so I'll post the future ahead of time. Here you go… the reason why Paul Davis is always in reach to Jack after he became Director to the Department of Homeworld Security.

A.N. 2: In my Assiah series, Jack prefers tea, but has trouble with brewing a decent cup, hence, coffee. Jamila is an OC, and an old friend of him and his father. Read the first instalment of my story if you want to know more, but for now, keep in mind that she's British (literally) and has some advanced abilities. (Teleport, Psychokinesis, Telepathy)

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate. And I don't own the Name Desjardins. Sue me.

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**∙Tea & Aides∙**

**Prologue: General O'Neill**

Arlington, Virginia, USA, Earth  
United States Department of Defence, The Pentagon  
5th Floor – 5th NAF: DHS, Director's office (classified)  
Thursday, March 03, 2004  
1100 EST

Jack had _finally_ (!) finished unpacking into his new office as his new secretary, 2nd Lt Desjardins, shuffled in with an enormous pile of manila folders, which the young man dropped unceremoniously onto the desk of his boss.

Jack looked up from his laptop and frowned. "Lieutenant, I don't remember that my new duties contain personnel reviews."

"Sir, no sir, and these are not reviews, but the final stage of applications." The boy was not older than 23, bright-eyed, a bit cheeky and a serious, no-nonsense attitude, in spite of his innocent "milk-face", dark blonde hair and green eyes, mounted onto a body many of the females of the staff fawned over. Jack actually liked the kid, he was one of the kind of junior officer which wasn't so easy to impress, with a rather modest attitude on top of it.

"Applications for what?" Jack grew a tad irritated.

The youngster lifted his eyebrows. "Your aide-de-camp of course. Every Department leader here has the right for one. Sir."

"Ah… and I take it I have to look at these ones personally?"

"Sir, yes sir. I filtered out the too unrealistic ones already."

Jack let out an inaudible sigh. "Well, thanks Desjardins. Dismissed."

"Sir." The boy saluted smartly and left.

"That kid is too good for his own good… better make sure no-one else notices." Jack shook his head as the door closed behind the Lieutenant. "Only his coffee is awful, not to mention his tea. Well, that would be on the list for an aide-de-camp too…" He started shifting through the files, and found himself… helpless. Unfortunately, his only stints into administration consisted of a year as what Desjardins was – a secretary for a Pentagon general – and his job as the head of the SGC, where his makeshift PA was in fact the SNCO and Chief Gate Technician, all-beloved Command Chief Master Sergeant Norman Walter Davis "Chevron Guy" Harriman. Zero knowledge what the _senior_ PA, the aide-de-camp of a flag officer needed to be able to do. All the choices of his secretary seemed reasonable, yet not.

He flipped through the attached application forms of the files. Most of them were members of his direct Office or his newly assigned NAF – Homeworld Security and all its projects – none of them higher ranked than Major. In fact, the first senior officer rank was the odd one out among them. Some of them were other Generals' aide-de-camps who apparently either wanted a promotion or a new boss. "Too young, too old… that guy should have been promoted years ago! Doesn't type fast enough, too bad a shot, too fat… like hell I'm going to take one my secretary will spend drooling about all day! Geez!"  
It was no use. Finding a secretary had been easy; the one didn't even have to be military after all, only well-organized, good on the phone and one hell of a typist. But this… he had absolutely no idea what to look for. "I don't even know any aides-de-camp… wait… there is _one_ I know." Jack snatched the schedule folder for the SGC from the inbox, scanning for any assignments for the only remaining member of SG-1. He found none, no surprise. He picked up the phone. "Desjardins, call the SGC. They shall send Captain Bartholomew here… yes, it is urgent, I need her expertise. No, under no circumstances make me coffee. That's an order." Jack hung up. "Hopeless. The boy is going to poison me with coffee… Let's see if can get back to work."


	2. Part 1: Captain Bartholomew

Disclaimer: I'm not MGM, therefore, all I own is Jamila.

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**Part 1: Captain Bartholomew**

Arlington, Virginia, USA, Earth  
United States Department of Defence, The Pentagon  
5th Floor – 5th NAF: DHS Director's office (classified)  
Thursday, March 03, 2004  
ca 1500 EST

It was well into the afternoon –and several folders later – as Desjardins called him on a visitor. He sighed, not in the mood to be friendly; SG-16's team-leader just managed to write an even longer report than usual. As if his briefings weren't hell enough… he'd rather listen to a joint explanation of Bill Lee and Daniel. "Send him in."

The door had been slightly ajar, and as it opened, the tall figure standing in its frame grinned, a tied lacquer box in hand. "I told you more than six years ago that I am female, Jonathan James O'Neill, Take One."

That flat, wave-and-rain voice… He looked up and smiled. "Jamila."

She laughed and closed the door behind her. "Bulls-eye, boss."

"Speaking of eyes…" He eyed the box. "Is that tea?"

"Deprived already?"

Jack grimaced. "You have no idea… my secretary is really good at being a secretary, but I would send his coffee and tea to that Bocce to poison him. He's a Marine and always brews Marine coffee…"

"Which translates into something with the texture of petroleum and the acidity of concentrated sulphuric acid." Jamila shuddered, remembering some of her old days as an "ordinary" Master SBS Operator; half of the division were Royal Marine Commandos, especially the Non-Coms, with a preference for that hellish excuse of a coffee. "It's only right if the horseshoe hovers over the surface – before it dissolves."

"Kill, point blank range, sniper." He grimaced again.

"Well, it is more than that… it's a gift. I wanted to give it to you earlier for your promotion, but there had been a delay in delivery… anyway, that's not really the point of me being here." She placed the box on the table and removed the ties she used to carry it, revealing the contents: A Japanese tea set – a medium size blue cast iron tea pot in the "Arare form" and fragile opal glass cups with matching sweets plate. And some assorted tea from her clan's company. "Here you go… should I make some? Or don't you trust your secretary to boil water? And to get to the bottom of the sea… why the bloody Frenchman am I here? As far as I remember, we were all going to go to my island resort next weekend before Daniel sets sails."

"Whoa, hang on, hang on. First… thanks! You don't need to give that to me, but still, thanks. Second…" He picked up the phone. "Desjardins! Boil some water please. …Yes, water, I'm having tea. …No, I said no coffee Lieutenant!" Hanging up, he made a sour face. "Marines. Anyway, the reason you are here is really some special expertise of yours." He pushed the stack of applications over. "This morning, Desjardins informed me that I failed to choose an aide-de-camp at taking up Hammond's job." In that moment, the secretary knocked shortly and left the kettle on the desk. "Exactly like that."

Jamila made an all-too-familiar hand movement, twisting her left up with the first two fingers stretched out from the fist, and the pot and pot-pad flew out of the box, settling on the desk and filling itself with hot water from the kettle. The water flew in a steady, steaming spiral from spout to spout. "Black, Black Oolong, Green Oolong, Green or Earl Grey?"

Jack frowned. "Green Oolong. Never had that before…"

Another hand-twist, tea leaves were filled into the pot. "It's new. From Thailand."

"Ah."

She placed the tea cups on the table. "So basically, you want to know what kind of person your aide-de-camp should be."

He let out a frustrated sigh and stared at his desk. "…yes."

Pouring tea a minute later, Jamila made a strange face, somewhat stuck between amusement and desperate embarrassment. "You called me to look at applications for the strangest post under your command? Tell that the marines!"

Jack's head shot up. "I'm not joking!"

"Easy flyboy, _I'm_ the one cracking jokes. Aide-de-camp, huh? Well, that's definitely something special." She picked up one of the glasses and began to sip of it. "Basically, we are talking about picking your extra arm, not just a hand. Someone you can trust explicitly, who is indispensable and loyal to the very core; someone who can make decisions in your absence for you and _not_ screw up… meaning no green Lieutenant. An aide-de-camp aides you in every critical decision you have to make, as the title suggests, by finding the information you need from all the shit your secretary digs up. He or she is closer to you than your Chief-of-Staff, if he or she doesn't double as it. He does half of your red tape. On top of that, he or she has the ungrateful job of being your mother hen: that includes brewing your tea, shooing you to eat, balancing your workload and healthy rest as well as security issues, and being a living schedule, road map, file deposit and 24/7 information service—"

"WHAT THE HELL?"

"–and a never-ending source of calm. Jack. My post was no-one less but the worst possible one to rear in the Royal Navy, the First Sea Lord, and from that experience I know one thing about flag officers: They put duty so high on the list that they tend to forget anything else. And the Sea Lord was a married man, so don't come with some side-hint to Sam. He still managed to steal my last nerve. Sometimes I had to suppress the wish to chase him over the _Invincible's _gangplank and feed him to the sharks for his antics. And from the last year I know you are _way_ worse than that." She emptied the glass and handed Jack the other, who grumbled first but then sipped and calmed down.

"Thanks. I needed that. Basically, it's all about trust, huh?"

She grinned. "Aye. And fortunately, I know you well enough to cut this pile down to a few choice candidates. Best one of course would be someone you have known beforehand." She put the folders away. "Since you are so busy with settling in, I suggest you just bring them home in the evening. I'll be there. Since I am already here, do you know some good place to kill some time? I am not in the mood for the Smithsonian."

Jack considered it. "A good place is Constitution Gardens… so… How about we meet in front of The Wall at and pay our respects?"

Jamila nodded. "Very well." She rose and saluted crisply. "I'll see you later. Don't fall asleep on the papers!"

"Ha, ha. Don't worry," Jack pouted as he returned the salute sloppily.

"Vows made in storms O'Neill. Vows made in storms." And the door shut.

He sighed, pouring himself another tea and picking up his pen again. "I know. They're not forgotten in port. Milady Portsmouth."

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**AN: Please Review!**


	3. Part 2: Private Wall

Disclaimer: I'm not MGM, therefore, all I own is Jamila.

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**Part 2: Private Wall**

Washington, District of Columbia, USA, Earth  
Constitution Gardens  
Vietnam Veterans Memorial, aka The Wall  
Thursday, March 03, 2004  
ca 1830 EST

After wandering the area and behaving like a tourist (in uniform, which meant no entrance fee) – visiting the Library of Congress and the Lincoln memorial, Jamila found herself in West Potomac Park, in the middle of the Korean War Veterans Memorial, facing Constitution Gardens. All things she hadn't been able to do the last time she had been here. If it wasn't for years of education in propriety and respect, she would have laughed at the similarity of the United States capital to European capitals: Museums, Memorials, Parks, and nearly no skyscrapers in the inner city. Only difference, this city had been planned like this, as opposed to the historical growth of the cities in her homeland and its 'neighbours'. _'They wanted to be different… and yet, they cannot escape our shadow yet, can they…'_ she thought, silently approaching the Lincoln memorial reflecting pool, which separated the two parks and War Memorials. _'How ironic indeed.'_ And she could tell a tale on memorials; living practically across the street from a few. Nevertheless, she admitted that the War memorial had quite an impact, especially with the rain pouring down on the soldier sculptures.

It had gotten dark already as she finally indulged herself to approach The Wall, but surprisingly, she wasn't alone, despite the weather and late hour. All-liked Pentagon liaison Major Paul "Disaster" Davis stood there, in full dress uniform and uniform coat, putting down a bunch of white roses in front of the western central section. Not an easy task when you were also balancing a metal file case and an umbrella. "Here, let me…" Jamila took the pathetic mini umbrella out of his hand and held her own storm-proof umbrella over the younger officer's head.

"Thank you — Captain Bartholomew? What are you doing here?" Davis spluttered as he noticed the British SBS operator.

"Visiting a friend? He is still at work, so I took a walk around. We are supposed to meet here, it is a well-known landmark after all… and I never miss the opportunity of paying respect to the fallen." Her smile, as usually, was totally crooked. Turning solemn, she nodded towards the Wall. "You? Someone you know? Weather's not exactly one for coming here in the dark."

Paul sighed softly. "Today… would have been my father's birthday."

_Conditional__ mood_. "Would have been?"

Davis turned away oh so slightly. "Yes… if it wasn't for some Vietcong idiot shooting down his helicopter, full with medical supplies for some Vietnamese village. Two days after the Ceasefire, after the Fall of Saigon. They had to keep his casket closed for the funeral, he was burnt all over."

_Sacred Creator__…_ "How old were you?"

"Ten."

Silence reigned for a while, the only sound sources being rain, and the city.

"Where is he?" a third voice asked suddenly from behind. Training kicked in, and the Major snapped to attention – "General" – as Jack revealed himself. "At ease Major. Again: Where is he?" He waved at the memorial.

Instead of answering, Paul approached the left middle part, Section 1-West, pointing to a name relatively close to the top, the end of the Wall's timeline. Among those who died on May 2, 1975, one Timothy A. Davis had his place. Then, he stood to attention again, saluted and whispered, "Happy birthday dad."

Jamila saluted too. "Ushalan gera-tas, sir." Happy birth-day – in High Antarian.

The last was Jack, who simply nodded. "Fortunas dies naties." Same in Ancient.

"Here, your umbrella." Before the near-silence from earlier could descend, Jamila handed Paul his umbrella back. "You shouldn't use something so small with your dress uniform."

The younger man shrugged. "It fits into my file case. So it's the General you're meeting."

Jamila nodded. "It is. Well then, good night, Major."

"Good night. Sir, Ma'am." Flicking the umbrella open again, he disappeared into the dim-lit evening.

"That's our cue to leave I think. What kept you?" Jamila lifted an eyebrow.

"Phone. Come, I have a table at Tosca's." Jack shrugged and smiled faintly.

"Lead on flyboy."

Washington, District of Columbia, USA, Earth  
1112 F Street Northwest, Washington, DC 20004  
Tosca Ristorante  
Thursday, March 03, 2004  
ca 1915 EST

"Care to tell me why you went through the trouble of reserving a table at one of DC's top newcomer restaurants when all we are going to talk about is getting you an aide-de-camp?" A little exasperated, Jamila sat at a backroom table with Jack. "Besides, I thought you hated your dress uniform."

"No time for changing. And I wanted to try this place out."

The boat had docked. "You're planning on bringing Sam here, so you wanted to know if you could trust the rumours about this place, aren't you."

"Err…yeah. Anyway, let's get back to the problem at hand."

"Aye." Jamila flipped through the small stack – Jack had actually managed to cut it down a bit. "Personally, I would recommend someone who made it to Major already, and is known to be loyal to his work."

"That's about only a third of this stack, the soon-to-be included," Jack remarked, thanking the waiter for the bottle of wine.

Jamila took a sip and grinned at his choice. "Looks like seven years of my mother's incredibly sophisticated household's Christmas parties did some good. A good choice, that wine. And anyway, all the more reason to be careful with your choice for an aide."

"No-one said that my mother raised a fool, but thank you. And yeah. Problem is, in The District, everyone seems to have their own agenda. Most of those are former secretaries, other General's chief-of-staffs, yeomen and secretaries."

"Hmm." She flicked through another file, completely impassive.

"Jamila, I'm dying here…" he whined.

"Easy Yankee," the Briton chuckled. "You said you wanted advice, so here it is. The main problem you have is to find someone who knows about what you're doing. That cuts down the list to…" she pulled out four files, "these four. The rest is up to your people skills."

"Hmm…" he checked them. All were good choices in their own way. "Thank you. I'll look into them later. Where are you staying tonight?"

Jamila made a mocking face at the rhetorical question. "Home. Where else should I be?"

Remembering her teleporting, Jack quipped, "Spirited away," and chuckled as their food arrived.

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**AN: Need Reviews. Need Reviews. Need Reviews. Need Reviews. Need Reviews. Need Reviews. Need Reviews. Need Reviews. Need Reviews. Need Reviews. Need Reviews. **


	4. Part 3: Major Davis

Disclaimer: I'm not MGM, therefore, all I own is Jamila.

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**Part 3: Major Davis**

Arlington, Virginia, USA, Earth  
United States Department of Defence, The Pentagon  
5th Floor – 5th NAF: DHS Director's office (classified)  
Friday, March 04, 2004  
ca 1500 EST

A knock on the door ended Jack's typing. "Enter!" Three interviews and no end in sight… all of the candidates so far were a real failure. He hoped the last one would not disappoint, then again, despite the bad news he had been at the SGC, he always had been an invaluable ally…

Major Paul Davis stepped through the door, and closed it maybe a bit hesitantly. "You wanted to see me, sir."

"Yes. Have a seat Major." Flipping through the application the younger officer had filed, he started the interview. "I understand that you wish for a change in scenario, which would allow you to stay in the area if possible, or am I mistaken?"

"You are not mistaken, sir." Paul fought down a blush. "The truth is, I wish to get married soon, sir. And my usual travelling schedule would not exactly be helpful in the matter."

"Aha… if you don't mind me asking, who is your fiancée?"

Now that was an uncomfortable question, to make an understatement. "Lt Col Aileen Lauren O'Neill, sir…"

"Oh…" Jack blinked a few times, then shelved the information away for later. "Well, then let's get to the point. I need a Chief-of-Staff and aide-de-camp since Hammond's aide has quit, and you need a new job which will not send you all over the country all three days."

"Yes, sir." He had noticed the subtle reaction on hearing the name of his intended… maybe it wasn't as good idea to ask _him _of all people for a new job as Lauren has thought.

Finally he looked up from the file, fixating the Major's eyes. "And why do you think you can do this Davis?"

Davis took a deep breath in, knowing he had to make a stand now if he wanted to get the job. "I know the SGC, sir, the dangers but also the chances it has. I know the ways of the Pentagon and of Washington, DC, with all of their petty grievances, and all the tricks for it. And above all, you and I, Sir, are fighting too. I know I can be of help, sir. While we are not at the front lines, we are maybe fighting something far more important than that. The home front. Someone has to keep politics off their backs, and the people behind them. You cannot win a war without the people behind you."

Jack chuckled. "Spoken like a true student of The Art of War, Major."

"Lessons learned from loss, sir. You know as well as I who didn't care about Sun Tzu's lessons and lost." Paul gritted his teeth. To him, applying the lessons and wisdoms of The Art of War was a very personal matter.

Jack nodded slowly. He too, knew what the younger man was referring to. Shaking off the memory of meeting the young Major yesterday in front of the wall, he made a decision, and rose from the chair behind the table to his full height. "Major Paul Alexander Davis. On Monday, report to duty to me, at 0830 sharp. If you are late for any other reason than an emergency, consider yourself never hired. Which means that in that case you will still have to travel all over the country instead of just accompanying me on my inspection tours. I wonder how my baby sister would react to not having you around…"

Davis had stood up automatically as his superior had gotten to his feet, but now he wished the floor would open up and swallow him. "I honestly don't know, sir. But I won't be late."

Deciding to rescue him, Jack laughed. "That's just like Lauren. Messing with people is a hobby of hers… but this isn't why I chose you; of all the people who applied to this position, you were the only one not to suck up to me. A very good friend of mine said the aide-de-camp is the most likely staff officer under my command to _disagree_ with me. I need you to disagree with me, to agree with me, and above all, to be honest with me so I can make sense of any situation."

Paul stood to attention. "I will not disappoint you, sir. Anything else I need to do for you as your aide-de-camp, sir?"

Looking at his desk and thus, at the teapot on it, he nodded slowly. Actually, there is one thing… I hope you brew a decent cup of tea. My secretary is trying to poison me with his Marine coffee."

The Major chuckled. "I think that can be arranged, sir."

"That is all then, Davis. See you on Monday. Dismissed."

Davis saluted crisply. "Sir!" Picking up his cover, he left.

As soon as the door was closed, Jack sat down again, flipping through the application to the final page. Signing his approval, he picked up the DHS seal stamp, finalising the deal. Then, he rang for his secretary, who came in as unceremoniously as always.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"At ease, and yes." He handed the Marine the file. "You need to process Major Davis transfer stante pede. And, according to his file, the poor man is way overdue for promotion. Start the paper trail so this can be done on Monday. Dismissed."

Desjardins grinned from one ear to the other. "Yes Sir!"

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Arlington, Virginia, USA, Earth  
United States Department of Defence, The Pentagon  
5th Floor – 5th NAF: DHS Director's office (classified)  
Monday, March 07, 2004  
0829 EST

_What's with all the commotion_, Paul wondered as he stepped into the outer office of his new boss. A flock of officers and non-commissioned was lining the walls to General O'Neill's office, all of them in their best uniforms. Stepping into the side-office designated for the Director of Homeworld Security's aide-de-camp, he left his coat, hat and briefcase at his new desk before approaching the General's door. Right on 0830 sharp, Major General Jonathan James O'Neill left his office, his Command Chief Master Sergeant in tow, causing Davis to come to a screeching halt and snap to attention. "Good morning, sir. Major Paul Alexander Davis reports as ordered."

"At ease." Jack turned to the rest of his immediate staff. "And thank you all for coming here today. As you all might be aware, as of Friday, March 05, 2004, Major Davis agreed to the proposal of becoming my aide-de-camp and Chief-of-Staff. However, there is one displeasing fact about him… a failure of his last three commanding officers, which I am now going to remedy. Therefore, it is with great pride that my first order of business as his commanding officer is… the announcement of the promotion of Major Paul Alexander Davis to Lieutenant Colonel." At seeing the shock of the younger officer, it was Jack's turn to grin from ear to ear, an expression subtly mirrored by the whole staff.

Command Chief Stephen Wang stepped forward, carrying a black leather box. "Attention to Orders: The President of the United States, acting upon the recommendation of the Secretary of the Air Force, has placed special trust and confidence and the patriotism, integrity, and abilities of Major Paul Alexander Davis. In view of his special qualities, and his continuously demonstrated potential to serve in the higher grade, Major Davis is promoted to the grade of Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force, effective immediately by order of the Secretary of the Air Force." He handed his CO the box, which held the silver oak leaves.

"Thank you, Chief." Jack proceeded to pin on the new rank insignia, placing the gold oak leaves into the box. Upon snapping it closed, he handed it to the new Colonel. "Lieutenant Colonel Paul Alexander Davis."

The assembled troops applauded.

"Now, raise your right hand and repeat after me," he ordered. "I, insert name, do solemnly affirm that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God."

"I, Paul Alexander Davis, do solemnly affirm that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God."

Everyone applauded again. Finally, Jack broke up the ceremony. "All right people, I think we've got a galaxy to defend, don't we? Back to your stations, dismissed."

Davis was still dazed. "Is this really happening? Sir?"

Jack snorted, turning to his own door. "Oh, believe me, Colonel, it can't get more real than this, that is, for a bunch of people whose life is the backstage area of a real-life science fiction drama…" Stepping into his office, he threw over his shoulder, "Now, get me some tea, will you? The pot is in the tea kitchen, in the box designated with a two-star insignia. And stop the salutes unless absolutely necessary, that's an order. Afterwards, please compile the necessary reports for my 1000 meeting."

Grinning, Paul did an about-face to search for that teapot. "Yes Sir!"

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**Author's Note: Considering that Davis had been a Major already in Season 01, it is absolutely illogical that he is still a Major in Season 09, let alone 12 years after Stargate became a series (Enemy at the Gate), when even (originally) Master Sergeant Harriman had made it at the beginning of Season 08 to Chief Master Sergeant, considering his extreme loyalty and adherence to the rules.**

**Need reviews. ****Need reviews. Need reviews. ****Need reviews. ****Need reviews. ****Need reviews. Need reviews. ****Need reviews. ****Need reviews. ****Need reviews. Need reviews. ****Need reviews.**


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